Of Mutilated Cars and Albino Twins
by heavens to bikini kill
Summary: Remember the twins chase during Reloaded, and that car that had its back nearly torn off? Who was the driver, and how angry was he with the twins? (rating for language) now complete. finally.
1. Oh fuck! My car!

Finally, a fan fic that isn't about Yu Gi Oh! Shocking...eh? First Matrix fan fic...but the only fan fics I can do right are where I'm making fun of people. Shit. I'm not the greatest fan fic writer in the world, no doubt, but I can act like it. To quote Smokey in the film Friday (the first, and the best),  
  
"I was BULLSHITTIN', and you KNOW this, man!"  
  
So let's go. I don't own the Matrix, or any of it's characters. Yes, this story is slightly inspired by Friday. It's not a crossover.   
  
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Of Mutilated Cars and Albino Twins  
  
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8:27 AM, another bright morning. Tyler rolled himself out of bed, though not really seeing the point of actually getting up. He lost his job yesterday, on his DAY OFF. How embarrassing.  
  
Hammering on his apartment door, probably more church ladies throwing pamphlets in his face. Phone ringing off the hook, definitely his crazy-ho girlfriend, accusing him of being with some girl he'd never met at some club he'd never heard of.   
  
Dragging himself into the bathroom, Tyler splashed sub-zero cold water onto his face. He had to find a job or he'd find himself on the street. There were quite a few dealers who needed distro...quite possibly Tyler could jump on that...  
  
He supposed, as he tossed a dress shirt and slacks onto the ironing board, that he could live without a job for a few months. Cut the cable, sell the PS2, cancel his cell phone service, start buying generic foods instead of name brand, learn how to cook more than mac and cheese (generic, mind you, not Kraft). Then maybe he could go live with his aunt, seeing as his mother would toss him right back out on his ass.   
  
Tyler left his apartment, not too shabbily dressed, in hopes of finding another job. He knew perfectly well that this was a pipe dream, who would hire him after finding that he was fired because he was accused of stealing boxes?   
  
He swore he saw something black flying around in the sky.   
  
***************  
  
"I am sorry, Mr. Jones, we are not hiring." The teenager at the McDonald's counter looked Tyler over a few times.  
  
"You're fucking unbelievable! I have a fucking MBA, are you telling me that a pimply high school shit like yourself can get a job here and I can't?"   
  
The pimply high school shit in question nodded and grinned. Oh, how Tyler wished to strangle that child where he stood. "If you have an MBA, sir, then why don't you put it to good use? There are plenty of corporations that could probably use you."  
  
The vein in Tyler's forehead throbbed furiously. "Why are you doing this to me? Is it because I'm black?"  
  
"Sir, may I ask that you not play the race card here?"  
  
*************  
  
He was now officially poor. No one was hiring. Period. He desperately wished to slap himself. How stupid could he be?? Getting fired on his day off, for allegedly stealing boxes?!   
  
To tell the absolute truth, poverty wasn't entirely as bad as people made it out to be. He had some sort of freedom, so to speak. Not having to get up early in the mornings and answer to some fat capitalist pig...not having to worry about buying that new Corvette because you're too busy worrying about paying your bills...Tyler hadn't even spent a full day in poverty and already he was adjusting himself to it. He was fighting the urge to tear off his tie, nick a cup from the nearest Starbucks, rub dirt upon his face and sit on a corner.   
  
At least he had a home still. For now. He arrived at the apartment complex and part of his body attempted to steer him away from the mailbox and the imminent, oncoming bills. Failure. Tyler stuck the key in the lock and squeezed his eyes shut as he thrust his hand into the box. Pulling out the envelopes as if they were something terrible like stinkbombs or rattlesnakes, he held his mail out in front of him by his fingertips as he slowly marched up to his apartments, as if he were marching to his (financial) execution.  
  
It might have well been one. There was no way that, within a few months, he could feed himself and pay all of these bills. Cell phone, cable, DSL internet, he could, and would, cut. But car insurance? He needed that, no way was he going to get pulled over and pulled into deep shit for not having his insurance. No, he just had to drive carefully from now on, and pray to the good Lord that no one would be an idiot out there.   
  
************  
  
The next afternoon, Tyler decided to do something proactively in order to conserve his dwindling money supply. He was going to find a cheaper supermarket. This would require driving through downtown, something he was tentative to do owing to rising gas prices. His car had been gathering dust, but it was necessary, for he was much less willing to spend all of his pocket money on bus after bus.   
  
He pulled out of his neighborhood and promptly reached the freeway. Wasn't too unbearably busy, for now. Spotting the sign for his respective exit, he headed directly for the business district of his city, searching for the proper street to turn on.   
  
Tyler reached the intersection, and before he made his turn, he chose to be a good driver and check all of the other stops. He caught a glimpse of a sleek, black Escalade barreling down the street. Of course they weren't good drivers, but they had to have the ability to follow the simplest traffic laws. He examined the driver and passenger closely. Twins, very pale ones at that, with long white dreadlocks. Their clothing reminded Tyler much of pimps. Well, whatever, people were getting weirder these days, although Tyler was pretty sure that standing out of the window of an Escalade was probably against the law.   
  
Regardless, he had his own issues to worry about. He prepared to make his turn, still assuming that some time the white pimp twins were going to stop. Poor naive man, for before he could do anything they had torn directly into the back half of his vehicle, nearly tearing it off. The sound of metal tearing apart metal echoed again and again in Tyler's ears as the Escalade didn't even bother to stop and help, but continue on it's way.  
  
He swerved into the sidewalk, cursing and furious. Most would be grateful for not making physical contact with the Escalade, but not our Tyler. No, Tyler was poor now, and could NOT afford the jump in his insurance, just because some insolent white boys were too busy chasing someone (for God knows what reason) and shooting up the neighborhood as if they were straight Gs. No, my friends, Tyler was beyond any comprehension of fury, and he dug straight into the dashboard of his now worthless car. He was going to get the license number of those two punks, track them down, and make them pay him. No way were those shits going to get away with what they just did to HIS car.   
  
It was a good thing, then, that he invested in a handgun the moment he turned 21.   
  
---------------------------  
  
First chapter, fin. Dayum, I'm proud of myself. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated...I'm always trying to be a better writer. Warn me, also, if this is leaning on the Gary Stu side. I don't wanna swing that way. 


	2. You got knocked the FUCK out!

Wooooooo! Yeaaaah! I got my pro-ops, I got my pro-ops....thanks to the chosen few (one person, as I write this) who were oh so cool to review. Before I begin this chapter, another Friday quote, this time from Big Worm:  
  
"You smokin' my weed too, Craig? Now I'ma kill you AND Smokey, 'cuz yous playin' with my emotions!"  
  
Hahahahaha. You have not lived until you have seen this movie. Seriously. Now, for the next chapter.  
  
Oh yes, and in this fic, I am establishing that the Twins were NOT deleted in that explosion. They are PROGRAMS, I see no reason why they can't be rebooted after "dying." I mean, when you play a video game, and your character dies, it may be game over, but you still restart the game and play all over again with the same character, right? I assume the Matrix works the same way.  
  
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Of Mutilated Cars and Albino Twins  
  
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Tyler was now unspeakably...hungry? Yes, he was hungry. Hunger and anger don't go very well together, so he chose to visit his aunt, who was always to be counted upon to have food, and good food at that.  
  
His aunt was, as always, overjoyed to see her (no longer) successful, big-shot businessman nephew, and quickly ushered him in. Plopping him at the table, she tossed him yet another 200-pound plate of incredibly tempting (and artery-clogging) soul food. Tyler dug in, as his aunt watched him scarf down her cooking.   
  
"Have you heard the news?" she asked nonchalantly.  
  
Tyler looked up from his plate. "Hm?"  
  
"Some terrorists tried to shoot up the freeway. Eyewitnesses described them as...albino pimps, or something like that. Anyway, about eighty to ninety people ended up dying."  
  
Tyler nearly choked on his fried chicken, and demanded that his aunt keep talking.   
  
"All right...but I don't see why you're so excited. Anyway, these terrorists were driving around in an Escalade, apparently chasing some other car. They kept shooting up any other car that was in their way. So obviously, the police were after them --"  
  
"Fucking PIGS," Tyler interrupted.   
  
His aunt smacked him over the head. "Watch your language, boy, and don't interrupt me. Now, as I was saying, before the police caught up to them, their car just... blew up."  
  
His eyes widened to approximately the size of plates. "It EXPLODED? As in, went all ka-blooey?"  
  
She nodded, and added more mashed potatoes to his plate. "Yeah. And you know what the weirdest thing is? Paramedics searched all around, and they couldn't even find those bastards' bodies." Tyler rushed to his feet. "What? What is it?"  
  
He grabbed his coat and nearly ran for the doorway. "Um...I really have to go. Business stuff, you know." He felt a quick cramp in his gut, he hated lying to his aunt. "Thanks for the food, Aunty. Tell my mom I said hi." He slammed the door and was running for his apartment before his aunt could even reply.  
  
*****************  
  
Tyler was beyond himself with rage. How DARE they? How DARE they die in an explosion before he could kick their asses for his money? Those insolent little white boy wanna-be-straight-pimp-G shitty ass pricks! He'd hit up their mother if he had to! He deserved, if anything else, financial justice!   
  
He raced into his apartment and to his dresser drawer. Searching quickly through his underwear drawer, he pulled out his handgun, a Desert Eagle. Though he himself did not know how much Desert Eagles sucked, he always found himself rather confident with it on him, a feeling of security.   
  
On his way out, he grabbed his leather trench coat and his best pair of sunglasses. If he was going to kick old lady ass for his money, then he might as well look cool doing it.  
  
****************  
  
Sitting in the Denny's, taking a booth to himself, Tyler examined the license plate number that was scribbled on a scrap of paper. He knew that those damn pimp twins were dead, so there was little purpose in keeping the number. To tell the truth, he had almost no clue why he was still thinking about revenge. He wasn't serious about beating up an old lady, he just wanted his money.   
  
The door opened, and on a reflex, he looked up. His eyes must have deceived him, for there were a set of twins, who dressed much like pimps, who were pretty pale, and had long dreadlocks. Tyler rubbed his eyes, blinked a few times, and looked again. Yep, the same exact twins that destroyed his car.   
  
He fingered the gun in his coat. Those presumptuous sons-of-a-bitch. They killed ninety people, they destroyed HIS car (most importantly), and they had the balls to walk around in a Denny's as if it had never happened? Oh, how Tyler was going to make them pay.   
  
He swallowed the rest of his free glass of water and glared at them, hoping that they'd see and cringe. White guys were always intimidated by black people.   
  
They didn't notice, and now Tyler was getting really irritated. He watched them, and he observed that they walked like assholes, talked like assholes (their British accents were SO fake), sat like assholes (one of them crossed his legs...who the fuck does that?), and they even ate like assholes. He would be doing the world a huge favor by rubbing their pale faces into the concrete.   
  
After an hour of generally behaving like assholes, they prepared to leave. Tyler wasn't a stupid man, so he left before them, searching the parking lot for their Escalade, under a silly hunch that it would be there. Just when he was going to call himself an idiot and go home, he saw it. The same damn Escalade. With the same damn license plate number. Wasting no time, Tyler (using his ghetto skills), broke into the back seat and tumbled right into the trunk, all the while thinking, "How? HOW?"  
  
After about twenty minutes, the twins finally left the Denny's, and climbed into their Escalade, in which Tyler was waiting. As they drove off to wherever murdering assholes go, he couldn't help but overhear their conversation:  
  
"We are not pleased."  
  
"No, we are not."  
  
"The Merovingian has been upset with us lately."  
  
"Yes, he has."  
  
"We cannot fail to destroy the rebels."  
  
"No, we cannot."  
  
This left Tyler very confused. Why did these bastards refer to themselves like that? Who was the Mer-whatever? Why did they need to destroy the rebels? Who WERE the rebels, for that matter, and what were they rebelling against? His thoughts were interrupted by the twins' terrible rapping.  
  
"This is how we do it where we're from."  
  
"Thuggin' in Club Hel until we see the One."  
  
"Shoot him, in the face, switchblade right in his waist."  
  
"Drivin' in our Escalade, programs know we're not afraid."  
  
"To shoot up humans, all for, the Merovingian."   
  
Tyler thought he was going to be sick, until he had an image of their faces covered in blood, begging for forgiveness and holding a nice fat check.   
  
******************  
  
The twins arrived at their destination, and left their car in a parking lot. Tyler waited until he knew they were gone, and leapt out of the SUV. As he stretched he observed the building. What assholes. They stopped at a French restaurant. Who the fuck goes to a French restaurant?  
  
He walked in, and right into the concierge. He examined Tyler's clothing. "I see...well, I suppose the Merovingian must be expecting you."  
  
"Um...if you say so?" He had no clue what the man was talking about. He supposed, then, that the man must have been tripping on E, because he had never met the Mero-whosie, and was only there to kick albino ass.   
  
He walked into the dining room, searching for a table, when he spotted them. Those DAMN twins! Oooooh, he would kick their asses. He sped up his pace as he got closer and closer...  
  
"Excusem moi?" Shit! Another piece of frog-eating, cake-sniffing, bog-trotting Eurotrash! "May I help you?"  
  
Tyler forced a smile, and turned to face the French waiter. "No, no, no, that will not be necessary." Approaching the twins NOW would be a stupid thing to do. He headed directly for the restroom.   
  
He examined himself quite closely in the mirror, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw white. He pulled out his gun and turned to see the pimp bastard twins, both holding switchblades and grinning all too widely.  
  
"You fuckers!" He pointed the barrel at one of them, glaring at the other.  
  
The one the gun was pointed at only smiled. "You rebel."  
  
Tyler looked at him funny. "I have no idea what you're talking about. You destroyed my car, remember?"  
  
The other raised an eyebrow. "Which car were you?"  
  
If Tyler could have turned any redder, he probably would have done so. "What do you mean 'Which car'?? I'm the one where you nearly tore the back off!"  
  
"Oh, you mean that one that was too slow to make his left turn."  
  
"It's a pity that we had to do that."  
  
The gun shook uncontrollably. "A pity? A PITY?? I tell you what's a motherfucking pity! It's a pity that I can't kill you both right now, because there are probably eighty or ninety families that would appreciate it! And by the way, how the fuck did you little white shits survive that --" He fell silent, and dropped to the floor, knocked out with one punch.  
  
Two shook his head. "Such an ignorant coppertop. How sad."  
  
One nodded, and stood over Tyler's unconscious body, grinning ear to ear. "You got knocked the FUCK out!"   
  
The Twins looked carefully around the restroom, and then squealed with laughter. Anyone other than Two who saw One's Smokey impression never lived to tell the tale.   
  
-----------------------------  
  
Chapter two, finished. YAYO! Review (concrit is nice, y'all) pretty please, flame if you're feeling brave, and don't be afraid to submit those marriage proposals. Sorry if the Twins sound a bit off, but this is humor... I don't own Big Timers, their song "This How We Do", or the movie Friday. On one last note:  
  
"First of all, don't be tryin' to cut it like yous a straight G, cuz I'll cut off your balls and hand them to you. I've had to tell you too many times, Smokey! Don't mess with my money! It's the PRINCIPLE of the thing, the PRINCIPALITY even!" 


	3. Holy shit! You're a fucking ghost!

Daaaaang, I must be funny, cuz the most popular term in the past two reviews is "LMAO/LMFAO". Well, muchas gracias to those elite two (as I write this, once again) who reviewed, you people are probably the only reason why I am inclined to continue this shizzle-izzle. So, before I begin the third chapter, another Friday quote, this time from that cute little crackhead.  
  
"My neck! My back! My neck and my back! I'm suing y'all for a hundred thousand dollars! But I'll settle out of court for twenty. Hey, why don't y'all just give me ten dollars?"   
  
Convenience store clerk: "Man, get up, it ain't even wet over there."  
  
HAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I watch this movie every week, man, it is too funny.   
  
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Of Mutilated Cars and Albino Twins  
  
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"Owwww...dayum." Tyler slowly opened his eyes and saw quite a blur of black and white and shades of grey. "That white boy punches HARD." He attempted to get up, only to find himself strapped to a strange contraption. "What the fuck? Am I the prisoner of a dominatrix or something?"   
  
His nose suddenly screamed a request to stop working, as a rather large man covered in hair walked up to him, with a bullwhip in his hand. He was smiling widely, showing his sharp, shockingly white teeth. Tyler looked up. "Who the fuck are you?"  
  
"If you don't cooperate, I'll be the last thing you'll ever see." The man reached over to a wheel and turned it a notch.   
  
Pain shot through Tyler's body and tears sprang into his eyes. "Oh fuck! I'm on the rack!" He strained to break free, only to have his limbs demand that he stop his pointless struggle.   
  
"That's right." The man's hand inched towards the wheel once more.  
  
"No, wait, uh...what should I call you?"  
  
"Cujo."  
  
"Oh, okay." Tyler struggled some more in vain. "Cujo! Don't turn that wheel! I promise I'll give you whatever you want! But you see...I think I'm kinda tall enough already, don't you?"  
  
Cujo grinned. "This is almost too easy. Okay, the Merovingian wants to know who you are, and why you're here. Seeing as the war's over, there is no reason for any rebels to come here."  
  
Tyler nearly lost it. "What??? What the fuck is this Merry-faggot [1] talking about? What war? What rebels? I'm just a poor black man who wants his money because some insolent white boys destroyed his car!"  
  
Cujo's mind went blank, for he had not anticipated this. "Well...uh, stay here." He left, and conveniently forgot that Tyler was still on the rack, slightly stretched out.  
  
"Hey, uh, Cujo? Buddy? Can you get me off of this thing?"  
  
************  
  
The Merovingian was normally a frog-eating, cake-baking, sock-sniffing bastard program who put France and everything to do with France to shame. But as of this moment, he was now a CONFUSED frog-eating, cake-baking, sock-sniffing bastard program who still put France and everything to do with France to shame. [2]  
  
Cujo tailed closely behind as the Frenchman stormed back to the torture chamber. Neither were all that used to interacting with coppertop humans (with the exception of the Merovingian's periodical cakes, though Persephone promised to slice off a certain body part if she ever saw one of those cakes again), and neither knew what to do at this point. They had captured and tortured a human over something that he knew nothing about. If he killed him, the System would use that as another reason why the Chateau should be destroyed. If he kept him, the crazy human would probably try to attack the Twins for (what Cujo said) his money. And if they let him go, he'd probably go screaming to more humans about how there was a house full of werewolves and vampires, and then they'd all have even more humans to get rid of.   
  
The torture chamber's door slammed open, and Tyler strained to see who it was. He saw the same smelly Cujo, and next to him, a shorter man, with a hooked nose and a very creepy smile. The shorter man spoke.  
  
"Vell, vell, vell. Vhat do ve have here?" It was now decided. Tyler now hated the French.   
  
"You are NOT a rebel, as you claim. But you came here to attack us, did you not?"  
  
If looks could kill, the Merovingian would have exploded. "Who the fuck are you?"  
  
"I am..." the Frenchman made a sweeping gesture, as if Tyler would care, "the Merovingian."  
  
"Oh...so you're the asshole that had me put here."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Oh, okay." Tyler suddenly tried to spring out of his bonds, only to be sharply held back by the ropes. "I'll fucking kill you, AFTER I take care of those white boy twins of yours!"   
  
The Merovingian laughed. "And why would you want to kill the Twins?"  
  
Tyler lost it, for the third or fourth time that day. "Does nobody fucking LISTEN anymore?? Your fucking twins destroyed my car, and now they're being a pair of cocky crackers [3] and instead of simply handing me a check so I can leave no question, they pull out switchblades, laugh in my face, and sock me unconscious! And nobody bothered to answer my primary fucking question: how the fuck did your shits survive that explosion?!"  
  
The Frenchman only chose to smile. "Firstly, you vill not speak to me in such a manner."  
  
"I'll fucking speak to you however I chose, you fucking piece of Eurotrash!"   
  
The Merovingian snapped his fingers. "Cujo?"   
  
Cujo jumped at the chance to torture some more, and ran to the wheel. After turning it about two or three times, he paused to fully enjoy Tyler's yelps of pain.   
  
"And secondly, the Twins found it imperative to destroy your car because they had an objective to complete, and your slow, careful driving hindered them."  
  
"That's...fucking...bullshit...Merovingi-whatever..." Tyler gasped.  
  
"Thirdly, I do not find it necessary to pay you back for your damages. Your insurance should cover it."  
  
"What??" Tyler tried to jump up again, and fell back in pain. "I can't afford the jump in my insurance, I just lost my JOB!"  
  
"I am afraid that is not my problem, c'est la vie. Finally, the Twins survived that explosion because I rebooted them and their car."  
  
Tyler couldn't get angry at this, mostly because he had no idea what the Merovingian what talking about. "You refer to them as if they were some sort of programs..."  
  
"You vill hopefully understand one day...but for now, I vill have to keep you here. I not need you running around the city telling people about le chateau. Cujo, cut him free."  
  
*************  
  
Tyler limped out of the chamber, and looked carefully around. He was going to find those damn pimp Twins and put a bullet into each of their heads. Money was no longer the issue.   
  
As he shuffled down the hall to where the Merovingian said his new room was, he looked around the chateau, and his new housemates. A long-haired, pale-faced man who went by Vlad glared back at him. Tyler walked up, out of sheer friendliness, and held out his hand.  
  
"Hey, I'm Tyler. You are...?"  
  
Vlad hissed back at him. "The Merovingian probably wants you alive, but I just may...kill you." He revealed very long and deathly sharp fangs.  
  
"Oh shit!" Tyler jumped back. "You're a fucking vampire!" He found it imperative to run the rest of the way to his room, taking a convenient shortcut through the library.  
  
Two men quickly got to their feet, and also glared at Tyler. "Oh, er...sorry." He glanced at the television screen. "Hey, 'Willard'! That's a good movie. The newer one's slightly better though."  
  
The shorter one, who had a very interesting soul patch, dropped his fists. "You've seen this one?"  
  
"Hell yeah! Though I myself am partial to black people's comedies, old horror flicks aren't half-bad."   
  
The man with the soul patch held out his hand. "I'm Abel." He nodded to the taller man next to him. "This is Cain. You'll have to excuse us, we're not quite used to a lot of people just barging into our library."  
  
Tyler shifted nervously. "Er...sorry...That vampire guy was scaring the fuck out of me."  
  
Cain snickered. "Vlad's a pussy, don't worry about him." He sat back on the couch and stared at the movie screen once again. Abel sat next to him.   
  
Tyler prepared to join the two, but at that moment the Twins chose their weekly "Let's try to scare the shit out of the newbies" session, Tyler being their next target. The moment they walked through the door, he whipped out his Desert Eagle and pulled the trigger twice.   
  
They both phased through, and grinned at their attacker. "Oh shit!" Tyler dropped his gun, as Cain and Abel watched with interest. "You're fucking ghosts!" He backed away, and tripped on the glass coffee table, crashing right through it.   
  
Abel looked over his unconscious body. "Way to go, you fuckhats. He's knocked out cold."  
  
Two shrugged. "He overreacted."  
  
------------------------  
  
Alrighty, chapter three finished. NO, there will be no slash. Abel does not get with Tyler. Neither does Cain. And neither will the Twins. This fic is PURE humor, I despise most romance fics, seeing as most of them have no point. (Except for Dark Puck's stuff, y'all gotta peep it.)  
  
Concrit is desperately needed, flames are nonexistent, and where are those marriage proposals?   
  
notes:  
  
1) I do not like the word "faggot." Period. However, when you're being tortured, that's probably the last thing you'll be thinking about.  
  
2) Okay...I don't like the Merovingian all that much. Does it show? Back off, Mero fans.  
  
3) Don't whine to me about how "cracker" is a racist term. I don't care.  
  
"I may not be the smartest man in the world, but it looks to me like you is taking a SHIT!" 


	4. But I don't wanna fuck Persephone!

Oh don't be so scared. Ladies, marriage proposals are perfectly welcome. Even though I'm a straight black woman, proposals make me feel good. Hahaha. So, I'm up to four reviews (as I write this)! YAYO! This is great for me. Seeing as I am not an essential part of ff.net, just getting one makes my day. ^_^ To quote that reverend guy in (what else?) Friday as Mrs. Parker (who is wearing a questionable outfit) is bending over to water her flowers:  
  
"Ooooh! The Lord is my shepherd, he KNOW what I want!"   
  
Right before he goes off to do the nasty, and promptly has his ass kicked by her cool midget husband. Hahahaha.  
  
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Of Mutilated Cars and Albino Twins  
  
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Well, fuck. The stars must have aligned to beat the piss out of Tyler today, because only 48 hours after his car was destroyed, he got knocked out by some Rasta albino twin, thrown onto a rack, stretched out another six inches, had to smell a werewolf who hadn't bathed in approximately three decades, realized that he despised the French, nearly was attacked by a vampire, missed out on watching "Willard", watch the same damn Twins "phase" right through his bullets, realized that he was in a house full of freaks, crashed through a coffee table, and was knocked out for the second time that day.   
  
Also, the war between the machines and Zion was now over, the One died, his woman died too, Smith (no longer an Agent) was promptly deleted after trying to fuck with the One, Zion was left to rebuild itself and make its peace with 01, Deus ex Machina now had to figure out how to deal with the humans, and the human military was shredded to pieces. Of course, Tyler had no knowledge of this. All he knew was that he was stuck in a chateau with vampires, werewolves, ghosts, and a stupid fucking Frenchman who was yet to follow tradition and give up. Wow, Tyler hated the French.   
  
He also despised the Twins. How DARE they phase through his bullets and deny him justice? One day, he was going to find them in their sleep and...wait. No. That wouldn't work. So instead, he would lace their...um, never mind that too. All right, so he DIDN'T know how he intended to kill those stupid white boys, but he would.   
  
Tyler sat on his bed and looked out the window. Wow, imprisonment sucked.   
  
A MIDI bastardization of "Get Your Freak On" blared from his coat's pocket, and Tyler suddenly remembered that he hadn't cancelled his cell phone service yet. *Please, if there is a God,* he prayed, *let it be someone I actually care about. Maybe they're wondering where I am. Then they can call the police and I can get the fuck out of here.* He answered the phone. "Hello?"  
  
"Well, excuuuuuuse me, what the fuck do mean 'hello'? Can't you return a motherfuckin' phone call?" Holy shit. Why did God hate Tyler today? The Lord must have been laughing his ass off up in heaven, otherwise there would be no reason for his girlfriend to call him at this moment.   
  
"Um...uh...baby, I don't think you understand?" Tyler tried weakly, and he braced himself for the oncoming blow.  
  
"I don't UNDERSTAND? Nigga, I don't think YOU understand! I have been callin' YO house ALL motherfuckin' day! WHY can't you answer yo phone? You been fired, you ain't got nowhere to go!"  
  
Tyler slowly began to redden, but successfully maintained his composure. "Listen, you have no idea what's going on right now --"  
  
"Like hell I don't know what's going on! Yous probably up at that ho's house, playin' on me!"  
  
"WHAT ho?"  
  
"The one that you was all freaky with at the show two nights ago!"  
  
"You mean the show that I DIDN'T go to?!"  
  
"Don't be yelling at ME, nigga, I ain't fuckin' around on YOU!"  
  
Tyler lost it again (what is it, the fifth time?). "Man, won't you just SHUT THE FUCK UP? I got all this shit going on right now, I don't need none of yours, ho! Keep on yapping, bitch, and I'll just come over there right now and straighten you out!" He slammed the "no" button. "Damn!"  
  
At that moment, someone banged the door open and rushed Tyler. He bitch-slapped him away. "Hey, man, who the fuck are you and what do you want?"  
  
His attacker stood up straight, allowing Tyler to examine him closely. The person seemed to be of Chinese or Japanese descent, and had black hair down to the shoulders. After about five seconds, Tyler cracked up for the first time in 48 hours. "Holy shit! Are you a girl or a dude?"   
  
The attacker walked two steps forward, socked Tyler in the stomach, and grabbed the phone from Tyler's hands. "Hey! You little shit, that's my phone!"  
  
The attacker threw the phone to the ground and stepped on it, crushing the pieces into tiny electronic bits. "The Merovingian says that you may not have a phone. And I am a male, fool." He turned on his heel, walked out of the room, and slammed the door.   
  
Tyler glared after the man. "You're a pretty bitchy male, that's for sure."  
  
**************  
  
He had nothing to do. He could wander around the Chateau, but that was probably a bad idea because he was a warm-blooded creature, and most vampires are partial to blood. He could chill with Cain and Abel, probably the most civilized werewolves he had ever met, but then who knew when the Twins were going to just pop in and start being their asshole selves? He could offer to do some stuff for this terrorist Merovingian guy, but judging at what happened to the Twins, he'd rather keep his limbs intact.  
  
Tyler stepped out of his room to stretch, and decided to take a rather careful walk, and to make sure to avoid the areas that Abel specified as vampire territory. Which was frequently changing. He came upon an old wooden chair, and as a precaution he kicked it in and pulled out long pieces that could double as wooden stakes.   
  
He soon came upon a door leading to a room that he had not been made familiar with. "Oh, what the hell? If it's life-eater territory, I've got stakes." He pushed it open, to see a woman sitting on a couch, turning off a television screen on which she was watching Tyler's actions. *Holy shit,* he thought, *she's hot!*  
  
The woman stood up and spoke, with a very heavy accent. "So, you are the newest victim of my husband, the Merovingian."  
  
Tyler simply nodded, too busy trying to get a glimpse of the woman's ass.   
  
"I am Persephone."  
  
Tyler nodded again, and choked out, "Tyler." *Now, turn around...*  
  
She turned to a large mirror, and pulled out a tube of lipstick. As she applied it, she said, "A long time ago, my husband was very different. I knew what love was then. I'd like to taste it...just a sample." She turned to him.  
  
He was confused. "Um...what?"  
  
"You experience love, yes?"  
  
"Well...I love my momma and my aunty, if that's what you mean."  
  
She sighed, frustrated at his oblivious reaction to her harpy-like behavior. "Not THAT kind of love...I mean --"  
  
"OHHHHH, you mean THAT." Tyler paused, and laughed in Persephone's face. "You think I actually LIKE my girlfriend? Oh, lady, you is trippin'! She a ho! She a DUMB ho, too!"  
  
Persephone's face darkened. "You just ruined my entire routine, you idiot."   
  
At that moment, the Merovingian and some of his henchmen burst into the room. "Persephone! Vhat are you doing with this...coppertop?"  
  
Persephone glared. "I do not know. Vhy don't you ask him?" She turned on her heel and stalked off. The Merovingian turned angrily to an innocent Tyler.   
  
"Vhat do you think you are doing vith MY wife?"  
  
Tyler's eyes widened to the size of plates. "Nothing! Absolutely nothing! If it helps you to know, SHE was coming on to ME!"  
  
"And vhy vould she ever vant YOU?"  
  
"Okay...so that doesn't help." Tyler searched for the proper answer frantically. "Um...I like big butts! I don't want your wife!"  
  
"Oh, so she isn't good enough for you?"  
  
"Er...that doesn't work either...okay! I have a girlfriend!"  
  
The Merovingian laughed. That was a bad thing. "You don't even like your girlfriend. I saw you yelling at her on your phone."  
  
"Argh! You have surveillance cameras in my room? You've been watching me dress!"  
  
A vampire spoke up. "Yes, and your manhood is ridiculously small, for a black man."  
  
Tyler glared daggers at the vampire. "Then let's see yours, you little bitch!" The vampire backed off.   
  
"Enough!" The Merovingian had officially lost his temper. "I do not care what ze System does, kill him! Now!" The Twins smiled, and stepped forward, switchblades in hand.   
  
Tyler reached into his pocket, and realized that his Desert Eagle was on his nightstand in his room. His eyes now much resembled beach balls, and he shrank to approximatelty a third of his original size. "Awk."   
  
-----------------------  
  
*looks up from her bass guitar* Oh, sorry I had to end this chapter here, but I've been kinda busy lately. Even though I'm on spring break, AP tests are coming REAL soon (too soon), I'm entered in two different film festivals with two completely different pieces that I haven't even started on, not to mention my actors are trippin' like something crazy, I still need to learn the bass tabs to the Cranberries' "Zombie", I need to find tabs for like...5 or 6 Bikini Kill songs, I still don't understand the tabs to that Daria theme song, I need to get my band thing together, I've lost all of my ideas for my zine and I need to get it done by the end of this week if I want to be on time (late zines suck), and not to mention I still need to convince my parents that going to prom with a girl (as FRIENDS) does not particularly have homosexual connotations. As you can see, you may not be able to get as many updates as I normally put out. You know that DDR song "Gentle Stress"? Who ever thought of the title should be shot. Stress can never be gentle.  
  
Encourage me here, people. Concrit needed (I know this fic isn't as good as it could be), flames requested (I really need a laugh), and marriage proposals from any gender are completely welcome.   
  
"What the fuck are you doing, man? It's puff, puff, pass. Puff, puff, THEN pass. You're fucking up the rotation! You lucky you my boy, man, that kinda shit can get you killed. Fucking up the rotation..." 


	5. It's over, biatch!

Yep, it's official. I am funny. But let me make this perfectly clear, this is a punishment fic, one where the author creates a random character and makes him go through hell for no particular reason. This is meant to draw pity and laughter for Tyler and his escapades. I do not intend to throw in any random film characters, seeing as the war's over by this moment in the story, there is little reason for them to be going back into the Matrix, and they should be rebuilding Zion anyway. Nor do I intend to wake Tyler up, because then this would get a bit serious. Seriousness sucks, I'm bad at it. All I really want here is for the Merovingian and his thugs to beat the piss out of Tyler and toss him aside. I'm a simple woman.  
  
Old lady from church: "Hi, are you ready for the return of the Jehovah? Because if you're not, then --" (door slams in her face) "Well FUCK you then. High and mighty motherfucker."  
  
Hahahahahaha. You know what it's all about. Let's go.  
  
--------------------  
  
Of Mutilated Cars and Albino Twins  
  
--------------------  
  
"Awk," Tyler repeated as the Twins slowly advanced, grinning and fingering their switchblades. "Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod..."  
  
Cain and Abel ran into the library just at that moment. "Merovingian! You have to see this!" the first shouted. The second only nodded in agreement.   
  
"Vhat? Vhat is so important zat you must interrupt my annual coppertop killing?"  
  
Abel struggled to make something up. "Uh...Vlad's PMS-ing again!"  
  
Cain agreed with that story. "Yeah, it's really bad! We're gonna need a lot for this one!" He winked at Tyler, as if to say, "See, I told you that Vlad is a pussy."  
  
The Merovingian turned to Tyler. "Do not zink zhat zis is over." He and his men stormed out of the room, leaving Tyler to sink to the floor and kiss it gratefully. Persephone peeked inside.   
  
"Is he gone?" Tyler leapt to his feet and turned to the harpy-woman, fire in his eyes.  
  
"What does that matter to YOU? I nearly got killed for YOU!" He observed Persephone rolling her eyes. "But you don't care all that much, do you?"  
  
"How could you tell?" She grabbed his wrist and led him towards the bookcase. "Ve'll have to get you out of here." She pulled down a copy of "Crime and Punishment," and the bookcase slid open to reveal a dark, crumbling tunnel. "Vell? Vhat are you vaiting for? Go! It vill lead you to the restaurant."  
  
Tyler examined her very closely. "You know, if you weren't such a foreign whore who didn't even bother to save me from her husband's jealous wrath, I'd probably thank you."  
  
He walked into the tunnel, and as the bookcase closed once again, Persephone called, "You're velcome, Tyler."  
  
It seemed as though Tyler had been walking for miles on end, and thoughts of sabotage and betrayal began to creep slowly into his mind. Why had he even trusted Persephone? What if she was leading him into another trap? Why, he had half a mind to go right back and strangle that woman with his bare hands.   
  
Only moments before Tyler summed up the courage and will to turn back, he saw a light at the end of the tunnel. "What? She was telling the truth after all!" He sped up his pace, and that walk soon turned into an all out sprint for the joyous light.   
  
He burst through the hidden door and forced his way through tile and mortar to find himself in...the ladies restroom. Quite a few females turned to see the source of the crashing noise. Tyler froze and stared. The girls stared back. Tyler stared some more. The girls stared twice as much.   
  
"AAAAARRGH!" he shrieked.   
  
"AAAAAAAARRRGH!" the girls shrieked even louder.  
  
One ran up with an interesting can in her palm. Tyler examined it. "Hey, what's tha -- OOOOOOOOOOOW!!" The pepper solution made direct contact with his precious eyelids as he twitched and moaned on the restroom floor, attempting scratch his flaming eyes out. "Somebody help me!"  
  
"Oh, I'll help you, you fuckin' NIGGA!" Oh shit. Why did his girlfriend have to be at that restaurant, in that bathroom, at that exact moment?   
  
Tyler chose the sweet route. "Oh, honey, thank God you're here, you've gotta help me!"  
  
"Oh REALLY? Why do *I* have to help YOU, boy, when you is freakin' with some ho at the show three nights ago?"  
  
He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Just listen. Right now, some French guy is chasing me with a crew of werewolves, vampires, and ghosts, and if I don't get a ride out of this town, not only will I die, but everyone who is within a twenty-five foot radius of me will too."  
  
"And WHY should I care?"  
  
"Because if you don't get me out of here, I will attach myself to your leg. When the Merovingian kills me, you'll die too."  
  
"That's bullshit."  
  
"WHAT?? Why the fuck would I lie about that?!"  
  
"Because yous tryin' to play me again!"  
  
Tyler thought quickly. "Fine. If you don't get me out of here, then I will take this lighter," he pulled said lighter out of his coat pocket, "and set your weave ablaze."  
  
His girlfriend suddenly rearranged her priorities. "Not my weave! It took ten fucking hours to get it right! Let's go!" She yanked him to his feet and dragged him to her car. Within three seconds, she had peeled right out of the parking lot and was well on her way to the airport.   
  
Let's skip all of the boring stuff about how Tyler got his ticket rather quickly by threatening the poor lady at the terminal with more Frenchmen and werewolves and vampires.  
  
So by this time, Tyler was patiently waiting for his flight to Canada, far away from crazy jealous Merovingians and their harpy wives. His girlfriend came back from the snack bar, munching on a Baby Ruth. She turned to Tyler, and began to talk, spraying peanuts all over his nice coat.  
  
"What kind of a ho you been fucking where you gotta run from some trigger-happy French dude and his army of vampires?"  
  
He glared at her. "What the fuck are you talking about?"  
  
"Honestly, I don't know why I put up with you --"  
  
He placed a hand to her mouth, as his flight was announced. "Man, I don't know why either." He ran off for the plane. "It's over, biatch!"  
  
END.   
  
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Finally! I'm done! Probably could have been longer, but I do like the way this turned out. Big thank yous and Tyler plushies to all those who reviewed!  
  
The last line of this fic was a Friday quote...so ha! None here! It's nice to finish a fic... 


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